to his astonishment he saw that the ugly little man was drunk already. His face was irregularly blotched with red, a red that clashed sadly with his uniform, and he was swaying: his bulging watery eyes rested on Stephen for a moment, and then moved on to dwell on Diana: he licked his lips.
‘Everybody seems wonderfully happy,’ said Diana. ‘Everybody except poor Jack. There he is, standing by that pillar, looking like the Last Judgment.’
But more evolutions were called for at this point, and by the time they and the dance were over, Jack had abandoned his post. They walked off companionably together and sat on a love-seat near the door, where the pleasantly warm, sea-smelling air wafted in upon them.
Jack had moved to a long table spread with bottles and glasses, not much frequented yet. Having drunk a certain amount of champagne he said, ‘That’s very well. But I tell you what, Bullock, just you mix me a glass of bosun’s grog, will you?’
‘Aye, aye, sir,’ said Bullock, ‘a glass of grog it is. What you want, sir, is something with a bite in it: a man can blow himself out like a cow in grass with that poor thin fizzy stuff.’
There was certainly a bite in Bullock’s mixture, and Jack wandered off with fire spreading through his middle parts. He spoke to a few officers through the din, putting on a proper smiling party face as he did so, and came to a halt near the band. It was quieter here, and he clearly distinguished the slightly too sharp A that a fat musician was giving his companions to tune their instruments: it was long since he had had a fiddle under his chin, he reflected, and he was wondering how nimble the fingers of his wounded arm would prove to be when he heard a clear voice behind him say – ‘Who is that very handsome man over there by the window?’ He looked towards the window, but there were only two gangling spotted midshipmen, too big for their uniforms, giggling together; and then, when the voice said ‘No, nearer to the band,’ he realized with a shock that it might be referring to him.
This was instantly confirmed by Lady Harriet’s more discreet but still audible ‘That is Captain Aubrey, my dear, one of our best frigate captains. Should you like me to introduce him?’
‘Oh yes, if you please. He was on board the Shannon, was he not?’
At this point a stream of people passed between them in a persevering struggle to reach the sorbets that had just appeared, and Jack studied the band attentively. He was a handsome man, but no one had ever told him so and he was unaware of the fact; now he was delighted, frankly delighted to hear the news – charmed to learn that anyone could find him good-looking. He was handsome, that is to say, in the eyes of those who did not look for the bloom or the slenderness of youth, who admired a big broad-shouldered man with a high complexion, bright blue eyes and yellow hair, and who did not object to a face that had the mark of a cutlass-slash from one ear right across the cheek-bone and another scar, this one from a splinter, along the line of the jaw to the other ear. It was clear that Miss Smith did not, for when he turned and the introduction was made, she looked at him with an eager admiration that would have satisfied the vainest soul. He was strongly prejudiced in her favour; he returned her look with a particularly attentive, complaisant deference; and in fact he saw a fine lively young woman, brimming with spirits, quite to his taste – he particularly noticed her bosom.
He at once asked her for this dance and the next, and when, half way through the second, she said, ‘Is not this a splendid ball?’ he replied, ‘The best I have ever known,’ with real conviction.
The atmosphere was no longer oppressive; the noise was not the mindless cackle of fools but the reasonable gaiety of a very agreeable set of people celebrating a victory – and such a victory! The full glory of it came to him again with an ever greater force. A remarkably good band, too: their phrasing of the minuet was uncommon pretty. And his partner danced well; he loved a spirited partner who could dance and enjoy it. A splendid ball.
There was only one cloud in their evening, and that was when Miss Smith, pointing out Diana and Stephen, asked, ‘Who is she, in the blue dress and magnificent diamonds?’
‘She is Diana Villiers, my wife’s cousin.’
‘And who is the little man dancing with her? He seems very particular – they have danced together several times already. And what is his uniform? I do not recognize it.’
‘That is a naval surgeon’s coat, but he must have forgotten the regulation breeches. He is Dr Maturin, and they are engaged to be married.’
‘But surely,’ she cried, ‘surely such a fine woman cannot throw herself away on a mere surgeon?’
In a decided voice, but not unkindly, he said, ‘No woman that I have ever met could throw herself away on Stephen Maturin. We have sailed together for years – we are very close friends – and I value him extremely.’
As he finished they had to dance up to the head of the line, holding hands. She gave his a firm pressure, and when they were in their places she said, ‘I am sure you are right. I am sure there is much more in him than meets the eye. Naval surgeons must be far superior to those on land. It was only that she is so very, very elegant – I cannot tell you how I admire beauty in a woman.’
Jack instantly replied that he too admired beauty in a woman – that he was very happy to have a most perfect example as his partner – by far the most perfect example in the room. Miss Smith neither blushed nor hung her head; she did say ‘Oh fie, Captain Aubrey,’ but when he took her hand again to whirl her round there was no reprobation in her clasp.
By the time he took her in to supper he knew a great deal about her: she had been brought up in Rutland, where her father had a pack of hounds – she adored fox-chasing, but unhappily many of the men who hunted were sad rakes – she had been engaged to be married to one, until it was found that he had an unreasonable number of natural children. She had had several seasons in London, where her aunt lived in Hanover Square; and from what she said Jack learnt, to his surprise, that she must be thirty. She was now keeping house for her brother Henry, who, though a soldier, was so shortsighted that he had been put into the commissariat; he was away now, looking after the army stores at Kingston, an inglorious employment. But even the real fighting soldiers were not much better; they marched and counter-marched and accomplished little; they were not to be compared with the Navy. She had never been so excited in her life as when she saw the Shannon bring in the Chesapeake. She was filled with enthusiasm for the Navy, she cried; and Jack, looking at her flushed and eager face and hearing her tremulous, enraptured tone, quite believed her.
At the supper-table itself she begged him to describe the battle in every detail, and he did so with great good humour: it was a comparatively simple single-ship action, lasting only a quarter of an hour; she followed it with the utmost eagerness and, it seemed to him, with unusual good sense and understanding. ‘How glad you must have been to see their colours come down. How proud of your victory! I am sure my heart would have burst,’ she exclaimed, clasping her hands over her bosom, which yielded to the pressure.
‘I was delighted,’ he said. ‘But it was not my victory, you know. It was Philip Broke’s.’
‘But were you not both in command? You are both captains.’
‘Oh no. I was only a passenger, a person of no consequence.’
‘I am sure you are being too modest. I am sure you rushed aboard, sword in hand.’
‘Well, I did venture on their deck for a while. But the victory was Broke’s and Broke’s alone. Let us drink to his health.’
They drank it in bumpers. Their neighbours joined
